Taxi Adventure: A Novel

By Terry F. Torrey

Find the briefcase. Save the company. Win the girl. Before sunrise.

 

Young taxi driver Horatio "Race" Rivera wants nothing more than to drive the history taxi for quirky company Taxi Adventure—and to sweep the owner's daughter off her feet.

 

But when an impaired fare leaves a briefcase behind in his taxi, and it goes missing from the company's lost-and-found locker, his simple dreams get turned upside down.

 

Now, with the company's corporate investors threatening a hostile takeover, Race has twenty-four hours to overcome the company's quirky drivers and crazy fares, find the briefcase and get it back to its owner, and somehow help rescue the company's financial situation—or risk losing everything forever.

 

If you like realistic stories of characters struggling against a world of chaos and absurdity to restore order before the clock runs out, you'll love the page-turning suspense of Taxi Adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Provocative Press
• Release date: Apr 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781961042070

Terry F. Torrey

Born and raised in upstate New York, Terry F. Torrey now lives in Arizona with his amazing wife and awesome daughter. A lifelong learner, his most prized accomplishment is completing the acclaimed Creative Writing program at Phoenix College. Now, Terry spends his days writing page-turning vigilante action novels, riveting suspense novels with shades of noir, campy but realistic pop-culture monster novels, and an assortment of other quirky, compelling, and heartfelt books and shorts. Be sure to join his e-mail list to be notified of promotions, special events, and new releases of things worth reading, and find all of his work online at terryftorrey.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

SEVEN A.M.

At Tiara’s insistence, Race pulled the taxi to a stop at the corner of Fifth Avenue and McDowell Road, nearly a half mile from her house. This is good, Race, she said. I’ll see you later.

Race held his foot on the brake and turned to Tiara in the car. The sun had risen over an hour earlier, and it glowed on the soft chocolate skin of her face and highlighted the natural curls of her long hair. He looked into her bright and smiling eyes and reached out to her, feeling a thrill when she took his hand. Are you sure? he asked. You still have quite a walk. He glanced meaningfully at the neighborhood outside, which in actuality was a gentrified historic district and not at all threatening. I can drop you on the corner.

Tiara scoffed derisively. No way. My father will be heading to the office soon, and if he saw me getting out of your cab— She shuddered. No.

But he’s going to find out eventually, Race said, and it’s not like you’re a little girl. You’re barely even still a teenager.

Hey! Tiara said, fire in her eyes. I only turned nineteen a few months ago. I’m not an old lady yet.

Race laughed, and she pulled her hand away. No, you’re not, he said, but I can tell you’re going to be a great old lady when you get there.

She snorted, then gave another furtive glance up the street. Okay, she said. I better go. She pulled the handle and opened the door.

At least give me a kiss, Race said.

You got plenty of those last night, she said with a sly smile.

Just one more, he said. Something to tide me over.

Tiara leaned over and gave him an unsatisfying peck, then turned and got out of the cab. Race pushed the button to roll down the passenger window, and Tiara leaned on the edge. Okay, now get out of here, she said. And don’t let my father catch you leaving. She started to stand up, then paused to add, And don’t drive straight to the office, or he might be suspicious.

Okay, okay, Race said. Everything will be all right. Just be careful.

Tiara nodded and smiled. I had a great time last night, Race, she said.

Me, too, he said. I’ve never— But she had already turned away, and he stopped. She walked briskly up the sidewalk along Fifth Avenue, and he watched her walk, enjoying the view and the soft morning moment, until she turned back to him and waved her arm at him emphatically, gesturing for him to drive away.

Very reluctantly, he took his foot off the brake, and, after one last look back at her, eased the taxi back onto McDowell Road.

He headed toward the west side of Phoenix, on a path where the people might not always have money, but at least some would be awake, and moving, and interesting, hopefully in a good way.

And, as he guided his taxi into the turning lane at Nineteenth Avenue, preparing to go down Grand Avenue, he saw a hand go up from a man in the parking lot of the adult bookstore on the corner. Race nodded to the man, waited for a break in the Tuesday morning traffic, then turned into the driveway and pulled to a stop beside him.

There are some who believe that it is the job of a taxicab driver to open the door for the patrons when they enter and exit the cab. The owner of Taxi Adventure, Lucius Banks, was one of those people. Race wanted to be one of those people, too. The activity evoked the aura of days and eras gone by, and the concept struck him as gallant or noble. Race liked all those things.

All the same, when a guy wearing a black trench coat flags you down in front of an adult bookstore, it can be difficult to generate enthusiasm for the fare. Suspicion, however, crops up in abundance. Fortunately, the stranger wasn’t waiting for any such pleasantries. He pulled the back door open and slid quickly into the back seat, pushing a brown shopping bag across the seat as he did. Race’s hand automatically went to the window control button in case the man’s personal odor threatened to overpower the air scent cans under the seat. Surprisingly, however, the man smelled of cologne.

Race twisted himself around in the seat and put on his serious voice. Though it was still only mid-May, it was already pushing ninety degrees in Phoenix, even at seven in the morning. Anyone in a trench coat had to be regarded as a nut-case, or worse. Where to, sir?

The man had slouched in the seat and turned his attention out the window, a look of thoughtful concentration on his face. Light from the low sun threw the lines in his face into high relief, and his brown eyes seemed lost in thought—or stupor, Race couldn’t be sure which. He answered without looking at Race. Westward Ho.

This was not a vague direction combined with an insult, but a destination. At its completion in 1928, the Westward Ho had been the tallest building in the state and a premier hotel. For 50 years, everyone from Eleanor Roosevelt to John F. Kennedy to Paul Newman had stayed there, and Robert Wagner had married Natalie Wood on its patio. When the city’s buzz moved away from downtown in the 1960s, however, it had fallen out of fashion. Now, after decades of decline, it had found a new life as low-rent senior housing, the kind with a thrift store in the ground level. Race nodded. Would you like to take the scenic route?

The man turned to him with a frown. There’s a scenic route? he asked.

Yes, sir, Race said. There’s a lot of history between here and there.

Does it cost extra?

No, sir, Race said. In fact, taking the side streets, it might even be cheaper. But if you’re on your way to work …

No, I’m on my way home, the man said. He shrugged. Sure, why not?

As Race guided the taxi back onto McDowell Road, he looked in the rearview mirror at the man, who was now looking at the taxi with genuine interest. He had seemed to notice that he was not in a regular cab.

This is one of those cabs of that fancy taxi company, isn’t it?

Race felt himself speaking with pride. "Mr. Banks doesn’t call it fancy. He calls it taxi tourism, he said. Distinguished vehicles for memorable rides."

The man nodded. What’s so distinguished about this vehicle?

It’s a replica of one of the first taxis to operate in the city.

There was a pause, and Race saw the fare running his hand over the trim. I didn’t know they made them this nice back then.

Actually, they didn’t, Race said. This isn’t a genuine antique. It’s a replica. It’s true to the lines and dimensions of the original, but it’s got modern parts like engine, transmission, and suspension, and amenities they didn’t even have back then: power windows and locks, sound system, things like that. Air conditioning.

No shit, said the man. Race glanced at him in the mirror. The lines had rearranged themselves into an expression of admiration. That’s pretty cool.

Yeah, Race said. Cool.

Race turned right on Seventh Avenue, then left through a residential neighborhood. This house on the left, he said, gesturing to a big house near the corner, "is where Winnie Ruth Judd stayed when she first came to Phoenix.

The trunk murderess, the fare said with a certain reverence. In my neighborhood.

Race smiled, happy that the fare knew his historical reference. Maybe, he thought, the man had not been visiting the adult bookstore at all. Maybe he was merely tired of waiting for the bus. He turned right on Fifth Avenue and nodded toward a stately school building on the right. This is where Barry Goldwater went to elementary school.

Is that so? said the fare.

Yep, Race said. And Margaret Hance, too.

The one they named the park after?

That’s right, the first female mayor of Phoenix.

Impressive. The man caught Race’s eye in the mirror. How do you know all this stuff?

Well, I studied Southwest and Arizona history at Phoenix College, Race said, but mostly I study the history of the area by myself.

Just for fun?

Yes, I guess, Race said. Plus, it’s my job.

The man nodded, satisfied, and turned his gaze back out the window, seeming to consider the city in a new light.

Race felt a certain pride at being able to impress the man. The street went over a bridge across the freeway, which was packed with cars, then back into a historic neighborhood, where Race turned left onto Roosevelt Street. He smiled at the fare in the mirror. Are you retired?

The man grunted. Not anymore, he said, then added, I tried it, but I didn’t like it. He shrugged. I’m back now. His face curled into a little smile that was more of a sneer. I’m an artist.

Really? Race said. Have I seen any of your work?

The man laughed, a gravelly sound. Oh, I’m sure you have.

Race wondered what that was supposed to mean, but the man gave no further explanation. Race turned right on First Avenue, close now to the destination. The Westward Ho loomed large in front of them. On the left here is where the house was where Barry Goldwater was born. It was right beside the Westward Ho for a long time, but it’s gone now.

Really? the fare said.

Race nodded. He put on his turn signal and turned left across the light rail tracks, then into a sweeping U-turn to stop in front of the south entrance of the Westward Ho. As he completed the maneuver, though, a car parked in front of him suddenly began backing up.

Race slammed on the brakes so hard that his seat belt locked in place. In the back seat, he heard his fare grunt as he braced himself against the back of the front seat, and the paper shopping bag slid forward onto the floor.

Before Race could even get his hand to the horn, the other driver had put his vehicle into drive and was accelerating through the light on Central Avenue. Race caught his breath, put his vehicle into park, and turned around to his fare. Are you all right? he asked.

I’m fine, the man said. A lot of people can’t drive in this town.

Yeah, Race said. It happens all the time.

The fare pulled the bag off the floor, then reached down to pick up the contents that had spilled out.

Is it all right? Race asked. Nothing brok—? He cut himself off. The first item the man picked up off the floor was a double-ended dildo, purple, veined, and breathtakingly large. He shoved it quickly into the shopping bag, then reached to the floor again, retrieving a pair of metal clamps joined by a length of elegant chain, then a pair of fur-lined leather handcuffs.

The man saw Race’s startled expression and shrugged. A new project I’m developing, he said simply.

Race blinked. He’d started to reach back to hand the man one of his business cards, and now he was frozen with the card hovering beside his headrest. Sounds like something pretty spectacular, he said.

I haven’t worked out all the details yet, said the man. He took the business card from Race, his eyes shining with what looked like pride. But it will be great, I can assure you.

Tiara snicked her key into the back door of the house, suddenly wondering if the key even worked in this door and frowning at herself and the oddity of her situation. This was the house she had grown up in, and she had had a key to it for as long as she could remember, using it to let herself and her brother in after school.

However, she usually entered through the front door. This was the first time she could remember sneaking in through the back door, like a burglar in her own house. It was silly, she told herself. She was nineteen years old, a grown woman for all intents and purposes. She should be able to see whomever she wanted, and yes, even to spend the night with someone if the spirit moved her in that direction.

Still, though her head told her she was grown and independent, her heart told her not to flaunt it to her father. Not now. With her mother passed away only two years and her brother now off to college out of state, she was all the family he had left, so she felt a rush of relief when the key turned in the lock. She pushed the door open a crack and listened, feeling a gentle touch of cool air on the side of her neck. Hearing nothing, she pushed the door open further and stepped into the small vestibule, then through that into the kitchen. She could smell fresh coffee, but the dark light on the machine told her it was off.

Dad? Tiara said.

With growing concern, Tiara walked through the door into the living room. She could smell her father’s aftershave, but where was he? Normally, he would be up early, but would not head in to work until around seven. Maybe, she thought, someone had called early with a special request.

Or maybe, she thought in sudden horror, he had been looking for her all night.

No, she thought. He would have called her, and her cell phone had not rung. But what if it wasn’t on? She took it out of her purse and looked at it. It was on.

It rang. She jumped and looked at the display. It was her father. She pressed the button to answer.

Good, you’re finally up, he said.

Um, yeah, Tiara said. Finally.

I called up the stairs to you, but must be you were sleeping pretty hard, he said.

I guess so, Tiara said, and relief washed over her as she realized that her father did not know she had been gone all night, let alone with one of his employees. She tried to force a yawn and stifle it, an awkward stunt at best. I’m better now, though. So, she wondered, how did the fake yawn fit with that, exactly?

Good, her father said. You’re still coming in to work today, right?

Tiara had been helping with her father’s business since he had first started it. In the beginning, she had handed him wrenches and other tools while he worked to create his first taxi in their garage. Lately, she’d been using what she was learning at college to prepare more and better reports for him about the health of the business. And ever since the beginning, she had answered the phones for him sometimes. The phone number for Taxi Adventure was usually forwarded directly to Lucius’s phone when no one was in the office. He couldn’t afford a full-time dispatcher, and he liked the feeling of knowing what was going on in his company. Tiara had been helping answer his phone since the very beginning, and since she had graduated from high school, she had been helping at the dispatch desk part-time most days. She liked it. I was going to come in later, she said.

Can you come in early today, honey? Lucius asked. I’m expecting the corporate guys to call, and I’d like to have the latest numbers for when I talk to them.

Okay, Dad, Tiara said. Then I’ll get dressed and be down in a few minutes.

Okay, honey, Lucius said, sounding relieved. Then, with a different tone in his voice, he asked, How was your study group last night? It was nice of Race to drive you over there.

An icy chill went through her abdomen. It was good, she said. I’m sure I’m going to ace the exams next week. Race had taken her to her study group. Though he had not brought her home afterward until this morning, she told herself this was not lying to her father.

He sure seems to like you, Lucius said, a probing question.

I guess so, Tiara said.

Are you two— Lucius began.

Tiara was ready with an easy diversion already prepared. We talked about what kind of taxi I could drive this summer, she said.

Lucius’s breath hitched in his throat. No, he said. No.

You’ll love it, Tiara said. It can be in the shape of a stagecoach, and it can be pink with white fringe like a princess owns it, and girls will want to go to dances in it.

No! Lucius said. That’s wrong in so many ways, but the biggest one is that you’re not driving a taxi. Period. End of story.

But it’s fun, and Race always has such great stories, Tiara said, smiling to herself because she enjoyed pushing her father’s buttons.

It isn’t fun. It’s a job. And it’s a dangerous job. People are crazy. Drivers get killed all the time. No.

But you let Coralee drive.

"I didn’t let Coralee drive. She threatened to sue me. And she’s sixty-something, so her father’s probably dead and gone, but you have a father right here, and he’s telling you no. Lucius caught his breath. No, no, no. No."

Tiara grinned widely to herself and shook her head. No matter how many times she pushed this button, it always worked. He seemed to have no defense against it, and he could never tell that she was kidding. Okay, she said finally, feigning disappointment. I’ll be in shortly.

You wait till I get ahold of that Race, Lucius said. Saying you should be driving. Putting ideas in your head. He scoffed. He’ll change his tune.

The smile vanished from Tiara’s face. Oh, no, she thought. What had she gotten Race into?

One more thing, Lucius said, his tone indicating his mind was back on business again. When you get in, call everybody and tell them I want them at the office at nine this morning for a meeting. No excuses.

Tiara frowned. Her father hated meetings. Should I tell them what it’s about?

Yes, he said in a grave voice. The end of the world.

CHAPTER

TWO

EIGHT A.M.

Under the harsh morning sun at the headquarters of Taxi Adventure on Central Avenue in Phoenix, Lucius Banks put his cell phone back into his pocket and turned his attention back to his cab. With a towel in one hand, he pretended to lovingly wipe the dust and smudges from the exterior of his cab, a refurbished and converted antique hearse. He did love the car, of course—it was, after all, the first vehicle he had secured for his company. Not only had he purchased it and restored it in his own garage, but for the first long year, this car had been his company. Even now, after the corporate backers had provided cash to move into a real office and field more cars, he still felt as though this car was the soul of his business. As he made his way around the car, however, the cleaning routine was merely a charade. What he was really doing was eyeing every window for a gap, every panel for a tiny crack where he could slip his fingers inside, unlock a door, and retrieve his keys from the front seat without making himself look the fool—again.

And he was having no luck.

The driver’s side doors were securely fastened, windows up and secure. He paused at the back gate. It was closed, but he thought he remembered the latch release cable running along the edge of the bumper. It was aftermarket equipment, and he’d bought it and installed it himself so that he could open the back for luggage without taking his keys out of the ignition. He ran his fingertips along the bottom edge of the bumper, and he was pretty sure he could feel the plastic cable housing right there. He was not sure, however, that it would release the latch if he just pulled on it. Locking the keys in the car was dumb enough. He didn’t want to add vandalism to the list. Still, he’d come back to it later and give it a tug if he couldn’t find another way inside.

Despite the early hour, the temperature was already threatening a hundred degrees, if it hadn’t captured it already. Lucius was a black man of average height and weight, fifty years young, with dark skin and short, black hair going gray from the temples back. Even merely pretending to clean, Lucius could feel the sweat beading up on the backs of his arms. As he made his way carefully along the passenger side, he saw with sudden delight that the back passenger window was down about an eighth of an inch. He eased up to it and peered inside. He could see his keys on the front seat. If he could find a coat hanger, and straighten it out, and⁠—

Hey, Boss, came a salutation from behind him in a rough voice.

Lucius stayed put, but he turned his head slightly to the source: Jacob Grimes, a white man about his own age, except with shabby clothes and a bad haircut. Grimes was the mechanic for Taxi Adventure, brought here at the insistence of his new corporate backers and, he was sure, a mole reporting his every mistake back to them. Yes? Lucius said.

We’ve got a fare.

Can’t someone else take it? I’m busy.

Grimes paused a beat before replying. I don’t know. It’s a walk-in, and no one else is here.

Walk-in meant that they were there in person, as opposed to being picked up. Lucius turned around slowly. Taxi Adventure occupied the end unit of a strip mall, with a garage in the back and an office up front. Lucius had parked in front, and two girls came out of the mirrored front door as he watched. They looked extremely young to him, Tiara’s age or so, meaning probably not old enough to drink. Despite this, they also looked as though they had been up all night, drinking. Their eyeliner looked dark and smudged, and their clothes looked limp. They spotted the cab and headed over.

Grimes started to turn away to go back inside.

Hey, Grimes, Lucius called. I, um— He almost said need. "—could use your help here."

Grimes turned back, a bit of an understanding smile on his face. Your keys again?

Lucius nodded and rolled his eyes with a sheepish grin.

I’ll get the spares from inside, Grimes said, turning away again.

If we had spares, Lucius said. I could get them myself.

Now Grimes turned back slowly. You didn’t get new spares after the incident last week?

No, not yet, Lucius said dryly. I was hoping⁠—

I’ve got something else, Grimes said. This time, he turned and headed back inside the office quickly.

Lucius walked around the car to meet the girls. Where are you ladies headed to this morning?

Both girls had dark brown hair, and both wore casual blue jeans, but the taller one wore a jersey, and the shorter one wore a button-down blouse. The taller one seemed sober, and the shorter girl did not. Though perhaps, Lucius thought, she merely had a bubbly personality.

Home, said the taller girl.

We left the car at home because we were going to a party, said the shorter girl.

So we wanted to be responsible, said the taller girl.

Yeah, said the shorter girl, and ’cause Corine already got one DUI.

I see, said Lucius. And where would home be, exactly?

Oh, said the shorter girl. We already told the guy inside.

That’s nice, said Lucius, but you should probably also tell me, since I’m the one that will be driving the cab.

Oh, yeah, said the shorter girl.

The taller girl, the one presumably named Corine, elbowed her friend playfully, then turned to Lucius. It’s Thirty-Sixth Street and Oak, she said. Leann’s house.

Grimes emerged from the office and hustled to Lucius.

The passenger side back window is down a little, Lucius said. If we had a coat hanger, I think⁠—

Got a slim jim, Grimes said. He held up a flat piece of metal about two feet long with a plastic handle on one end and some notches and a chiseled point cut into the other. He stepped past Lucius and guided the tool in